


Reassurance

by sweet_ladyy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_ladyy/pseuds/sweet_ladyy
Summary: Your crush—a certain blonde-haired drummer—rejects your advances, breaking your heart. Your best friend Brian May is there to help take care of you after a night of drinking your troubles away. But when your repressed feelings for Brian come out, how can you be sure he’s not just a rebound?
Relationships: Brian May/You, Roger Taylor (Queen)/You
Kudos: 22





	1. part one

Reassurance — Brian May x f!Reader (part one)

  
[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/2f0a0e2651f1aad8aa5e7abc5bd28a6f/tumblr_inline_pmw22xHiM61ufkuu0_500.gifv)

**Pairing(s):** Brian May x female reader

**Setting:** London, spring of 1971, right at the brink of Smile becoming Queen

**Prompt:** anonymous asked: 

> brian comforting you after your crush falls for someone else!3??-?? then you start to feel for brian?????

**Chapter:** one of three

**Word Count:** ~1.6K (by part)

**Warnings:** drinking, mild sexual implications, angst, but also fluff so sweet your teeth will ache

**Disclaimer** : This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Brian May, Queen, or any other affiliated names or fictional events.

~ [part two](https://sweet-ladyy.tumblr.com/post/182795098909/reassurance-brian-may-x-freader-part-two) ~

✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* 

You throw your head back and take another shot of tequila. It burns your throat like fire, but you welcome the sensation, knowing at this rate, you’ll soon be devoid of much feeling at all in no time. And that’s exactly what you’re going for.

“Damn.” Brian watches you with wide, concerned eyes. He’d agreed without question to your invitation to the local pub tonight, despite it being a Thursday night and despite the fact that he has an 8am class tomorrow morning.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

“Y/N, who hurt you? I’ll beat them up,” he laughs. You realize he’d meant it as a joke; little does he know how hurt you really felt.

So you tell him the truth. “I’m drinking my pain away. And if you must know, I got dissed—hard. Don’t make fun of me.” You beckon the bartender over with a wave. “Fuck, I need more tequila.”

“Y/N, slow down,” Brian says, lowering your hand outstretched toward the bartender with a hand of his own. He wraps his fingers around your palm and squeezes. You know it’s meant to be reassuring, but you feel sheepish and embarrassed.

“Who dissed you?” he continues. “What do you mean?”

You frown at him, pursing your lips. “I’m too embarrassed to say.”

Brian is your best friend in the entire world—and he has been since secondary school, and even more so now that you’re both in college together—and yet, this particular grievance is too much to tell him. It would be easier to tell Brian what’s wrong if only he wasn’t in a rock band with the boy that had just broken your heart not hours before.

Roger Taylor—devilishly handsome, infamous philanderer, artisan of charming words—is the boy who made you feel this way. He’s smart and insightful and much too charming for his own good. And damn, he’s a good drummer. You can’t tear your eyes away from him while he performs at shows, hitting his drums with the ease of a true master, and looking good as hell while doing it, a cigarette dangling between his smirking lips.

You hadn’t known Roger very well, but he’d always been very friendly to you when he’d seen you at shows in Brian’s support. And over the past month or so, you began to develop feelings for the drummer.

But you made the mistake of telling Freddie. He’d beamed at the opportunity to spark a relationship between his two friends. Freddie had begged you to let him set Roger up on a date with you. A “blind date,” Freddie had called it, even though it was only blind for Roger. So you let him. Big mistake.

On the day of the blind date—last Saturday—you’d dressed in your most flattering blouse-skirt combo and waited for Roger at a local Italian restaurant. When he’d come in and saw you sitting alone, waiting for him, his eyes had widened—but not in pleasure.

_“Oh! Y/N? …_ You’re _my blind date? Fuck, I, uh—shit, this is awkward. Listen, you’re a sweet girl and all, but I gotta say, I really wasn’t expecting it to be you, here… and no offense, but you’re not really my type. I mean—fuck, that’s not what I meant. Shit. I just meant to say, I’m not really into you in that way.”_

Your whole heart had sunken like a ship in a storm. You’d run out of the restaurant and back to Freddie’s apartment to cry on his shoulder. Roger’s words had cut deep. But, you hadn’t given up all hope. Freddie’d insisted that you would just need to give Roger time—that he would come through and “see just how much he’d been missing with you” sooner than later. So you’d held your head high all week, hoping that maybe, just maybe…he’d call.

But having high hopes always leads to a more painful downfall. You’d been feeling good all day, when suddenly, you spotted something that made your heart sink again. Roger Taylor was walking down the streets of London hand-in-hand with another girl, one of your classmates from your college who looks not all that different from you. You wouldn’t let yourself believe it, until he’d stopped outside a store entrance and leaned down to kiss her shyly, his arms wrapped around her waist.

And that was that.

You scrunch your face up at the memory. The pub is busy, noisy, and perfectly distracting. Roger isn’t into you, and he never will be. You feel undeniably humiliated, torn, and—as much as you hate to admit it—heartbroken.

“‘Too embarrassed to say?’” Brian echoed.

“Don’t worry about me. Besides…. Tequila can be my boyfriend,” you muse, tracing the rim of the empty shot glass on the counter.

“Does this have to do with your blind date with Roger?” Brian guesses.

You swear. “You weren’t supposed to have found out!”

“Fred told me. What, was it a secret?”

You groan, dropping you face to your hands, feeling warm with embarrassment. Freddie probably spilled to Brian everything you’d ever gushed about regarding your crush on Roger. _Great_. Now Brian will never see you the same way, knowing you’re obsessed with one of his closest friends.

“You probably think I’m ridiculous.”

“Aw, no, Y/N… I could never think that about you,” Brian says, rubbing reassuring circles on your back. Brian’s touches were usually always reassuring to you. But the gesture feels more pitying than anything.

“I’m a fool for even thinking I had a shot,” you mumble. “And see, that’s the thing. The blind date was a bust, but the real kicker was seeing the girl he was all lovey-dovey with today.”

“What girl?”

“Fuck if I know. New girlfriend?”

“That’s strange,” Brian says hesitantly. “Roger isn’t really the going-steady type.”

You groan again, pressing your head onto the counter. “I’m such an idiot. _Fuck_ , I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not. Stop beating yourself up over Roger. He’s not worth it.”

You look up and pout at Brian. “Will you just let me sulk? I need to wallow in a sea of alcohol and self-pity.”

He chuckles, half-smiling. “I suppose I won’t be able to stop you.”

Some of his frothy beer clings to his upper lip. It’s adorable, and strangely alluring. Brian’s always been naturally alluring to you. You curse internally, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. Why are you fantasizing about your best friend now? Fuck, you must be really lonely.

You wave for the bartender once more and order another shot. This time, Brian doesn’t stop you.

———

When you and Brian leave the pub, the world is spinning like you’d just gotten off a carnival ride. You giggle, savoring the cool bite of winter air on your flushed skin. After nearly falling into a rosebush, Brian steadies you with an arm wrapped firmly around your midriff.

“Careful, there, Y/N,” he says.

“Pretty flowers,” you slur.

You reach Brian’s car. Brian buckles you in and begins driving. You ramble as he drives.

“It’s so lonely being _me._ Brian. _Briaaaan._ Do you know how it feels to be _lonely_ and _sad? ‘_ Cause I’m _really_ lonely and sad right now.”

“Come on, Y/N, let’s just get you to bed.”

“But _Roger…_ Roger’s never lonely, is he? He’s never… He’s always sooooo _not lonely._ He’s so pretty. How is he… How is he so pretty? I’m not that pretty. It’s not fair. He’s too pretty for me.” You flail your hands in wild gestures as you slur your words. “He broke my heart. My heart is broken. _Brian._ Have you ever… Have you ever got your heart broken? ‘Cause it _sucks._ This _ssssssucks._ I just want to sleep—”

“Shh. It’s okay. We’re almost home.”

But it takes you until Brian parks the car, helps you upstairs and out of your coat, and onto the bed for you to realize that this was _Brian’s_ apartment, not yours.

“Wait a minute,” you giggle. “Where am I?”

“This is my bedroom,” he says.

Brian has set you on the edge of the bed, but your head feels so heavy that you fall backwards onto your back. He’s fumbling with your shoes now, trying to pull them off your feet. But you’re too distracted trying to focus on the details of the light fixture built into the popcorn ceiling above you, laughing to yourself when the lights won’t stop spinning.

You hiccup and try to roll on your side to look at your best friend. “This is _nnnot_ the scenario…the scenario in which I always imagined being in your bed,” you slur.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” he says.

“Wait, Brrrrrrrian…. Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right back.”

And sooner than later, he’s returned with a glass of water, which he forces you to sit up and drink.

“Are you doing okay? Do you need to throw up?”

“ _Nnnnno._ Briaaaaaaaan. You’re so pretty. Did you know that?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Nnnnno I’m not.”

“C’mon, let’s get you under the covers.” He stands and tries to hoist your torso up to rest on the pillows.

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Brian. Will… Will you hold me?” You’re struck with a sudden wave of emotion. And then, it’s the waterworks. Your face twists in a sob, overcome with the pain you’d been repressing all evening.

“Brian,” your voice cracks.

Brian’s brows pull together and he sits next to you on the bed, pulling you in for a hug. You lean heavily against him and cry.

“Shhh, Y/N. It’s okay. I got you.”

“Why doesn’t he like me?” you whisper. “What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s gonna be alright, Y/N. Shhh. Nothing is wrong with you. You’re alright, love.”

Your body feels heavier and heavier, and you feel yourself sinking down onto his lap, face still wet with tears. Brian rubs reassuring circles on your back, the same way he had been earlier this evening. The last thing you feel before drifting off to sleep is Brian’s soft lips against the sweaty skin of your forehead.

✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* 


	2. part two

Reassurance — Brian May x f!Reader (part two)

**Pairing(s):** Brian May x female reader

**Setting:** London, spring of 1971, right at the brink of Smile becoming Queen

**Prompt:** anonymous asked:

> brian comforting you after your crush falls for someone else!3??-?? then you start to feel for brian?????

**Chapter:** two of three

**Word Count:** ~1.7K (by part)

**Warnings:** drinking, mild sexual implications, angst, but also fluff so sweet your teeth will ache

**Disclaimer** : This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Brian May, Queen, or any other affiliated names or fictional events.

**A/N:** Just a fair warning. This part is significantly more angsty than the prior one. Enjoy ☹️

~ [part one](https://sweet-ladyy.tumblr.com/post/182791933734/reassurance-brian-may-x-freader-part-one) ~ [part three](https://i-dont-know-anyone-at-this-party.tumblr.com/post/182820323563/reassurance-brian-may-x-freader-part-three) ~

✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:*

The headache you wake up with the next morning is splitting. You know you’re hungover before you even open your eyes. Groaning, you throw the covers over your eyes. Your bed feels so much more comfy when you’re hungover.

But it doesn’t feel like your bed. It doesn’t smell like your detergent on the sheets. No, it smells much more like the scent of Brian…

You groan and open your eyes, studying the room. It _is_ Brian’s room. Jimi Hendrix and Beatles posters cover the walls, and the desk is stacked with textbooks and handwritten class notes. An analog clock on his wall reads 6:45 a.m.

A glass of water and an aspirin sit on the bedside table beside you, which you take greedily. The curtains have been drawn, effectively blocking the morning sunshine from your sensitive eyes. Your coat rests folded neatly atop your shoes in the corner of the room. These small gestures scream of Brian’s thoughtfulness. But you’re alone. If you’re in Brian’s room, then where is Brian?

You get out of bed with care and slowly creak the door open. You find Brian’s bathroom and splash your face with cool water from the sink. Your reflection is horrid, but you’ve looked worse.

A gentle snore from the apartment catches your attention. You carefully pad through the hallway and to the living room. Brian is asleep on the couch, his hair a beautiful mess and his mouth open in a gentle _O._ He’s lying on his stomach, one long arm hanging off the side, his feet dangling off the end. The flimsy blanket tangled in his legs indicates he’d had a restless night.

He’d taken care of you last night—that much is clear. You can’t remember much, but the fact that you’d woken up here, more hydrated than you ever would have been alone, and woken up curled up in his bed while he sleeps on the couch… You’re overcome with gratitude for your best friend. 

Gratitude, and…something else, you realize, as you watch his sleeping form. Something else you don’t want to admit to yourself.

You go to Brian’s kitchen and get started on brewing a pot of coffee, chastising yourself. The last thing you need is to rebound to Brian after your rejection from Roger. But as you stare at the hot liquid dribbling into the pot, you realize all your hard feelings about Roger’s rejection have more or less dissipated. In their place is a tangled mess of strange, new emotions about your best friend.

Brian stirs from the couch, probably awoken from the smell of coffee. You quickly prepare him a cup the way you know he likes it—black, with a single ice cube so it’s cool enough to drink—and bring it to him.

“Y/N?” he mumbles as you approach him.

“Hey, spaceman,” you say quietly, waiting for him to sit upright before handing him the mug. “I made you coffee.”

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” he remarks, voice still heavy with sleep. He stretches, arching his back to relieve some of the knots that likely formed from a night on the couch. He looks undeniably adorable with his heavy eyelids and tousled hair.

“Yeah, about that,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Thanks for, em… Thanks for taking care of me last night. I owe you one.”

Brian sips his coffee carefully, smiling when he realizes it’s been cooled enough to drink. “You don’t owe me a damn thing. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

Your stomach flips for absolutely no reason. “Yeah, it is.”

“Do you feel alright this morning?”

“Yeah, actually,” you say, going back to the kitchen to grab a cup for yourself. “Aside from a headache, I’m surprisingly decent this morning.”

“That’s good,” Brian says, standing slowly to follow you into the kitchen. He watches as you pour yourself a cup of coffee and search the refrigerator for cream. “Milk’s on the door; sugar’s in the pantry,” he adds.

“You read my mind.”

Once you have your coffee prepared the way you like it, you and Brian drink in silence. The warm drink seems to immediately restore your energy. You feel content; a still morning, a hot cup of joe, and your best friend in the whole world. It’s everything you could ask for.

But something feels off about the space between you and Brian this morning. Usually, you and he are more than comfortable with shared silence. But a strange tension tempers the air. You glance at him; he’s studying you with a torn expression.

“I told you, I’m feeling okay,” you reaffirm. But his frown deepens.

“How much of last night do you remember?” Brian asks.

You purse your lips. “You brought me back from the pub, you took off my coat and shoes, and you helped me into bed…” _I think._ Your pulse quickens; what forgotten instance could be be referring to?

“That’s all you remember?” Brian presses, his voice strained.

“I… I remember you trying to console me before I fell asleep.” You grimace, feeling a blush come on. “I was probably a mess. I’m sorry you had to put up with me.”

“It’s really no bother,” he says, “but that’s not what I’m talking about. Do you remember me coming in to wake you up during the night?”

You gulp. “No?”

Brian purses his lips and strokes the lip of his coffee mug with an absent-minded finger. “A few hours after you nodded off, I thought you might need to be coerced into drinking another glass of water,” he explains. “So I poured a glass and came in to wake you up.”

_What happened? What did I do?_ You gnaw at your lip, anticipating the worst. “I don’t remember waking up at all.”

“You were still plastered, I think,” Brian says. That same torn expression crosses his features again.

“Brian,” you groan. “Tell me what I did.”

“Well… After you drank the glass, you told me you were in love with me, and then you kissed me.”

_Fuck._ You groan again and cover your face with your hands. _Oh holy fuck._ This ruins everything.

“Well, you _tried_ to kiss me, but I pushed you away. You truly don’t remember it, Y/N?”

You’re still covering your eyes so you can’t see his face, but his tone of voice sounds foreign to your ears. You suddenly want nothing more than to run away and never see him again.

“I don’t remember that at all. _Fuck._ Brian, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t me—” You cut yourself off before you can finish your sentence. 

_Had_ you meant it?

Almost as if he’s echoing your thoughts, Brian asks quietly, “Did you… Did you mean it?”

You slowly slide your hands down your face and meet Brian’s gaze. His brows are furrowed, his lips are parted, but his eyes look _brilliant._ Almost… _longing._

_Does Brian feel something for me?_

“I have to go,” you say quickly, placing your mug in the sink and leaving the kitchen as fast as possible. You retreat back to Brian’s bedroom and retrieve your shoes and coat, not even bothering to put them on.

“Y/N, wait,” Brian calls, coming down the hallway to face you, but you squeeze past him again and head for the door.

“Thank you again for taking care of me last night. I’ll see you later, Bri,” you whisper before throwing the door open and slipping out. He doesn’t try to follow you.

— — —

Not two days after your last pub visit, and you find yourself at yet another pub. A different one this time, much busier and livelier. It’s a Saturday night, and the band Smile was due on in a few minutes. 

You sit at a circular table near the back of the venue, but still within a clear visual shot from the stage. A glass of lemonade sweats on the table before you—nonalcoholic, since you’d had enough tequila last Thursday to last you a lifetime.

All around you, couples hold hands and groups of girlfriends giggle with each other. You’re probably one of the few people here by yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call up any friends to come with you. The whole way here, it had taken nearly all of your willpower to refrain from telling the cab driver to turn around and take you back home.

But now that you are here, you’re nervous as hell. Last week, you would have been nervous about embarrassing yourself in front of Roger Taylor. Well, you’d certainly checked _that_ box off your bucket list, with your failed blind date with him last weekend. Been there, done that.

No, this time, you’re nervous not about Roger Taylor, but rather about Brian May. Your best friend Brian May, who’d seen you at your worst and had let you soak his shirt with your drunken tears and sleep in his bed. Brian May, who you’d confessed your supposed love for…who you’d tried to kiss.

Before coming to college, your mother had warned you about alcohol. You could still remember her insisting: “ _Alcohol is liquid courage, but it’s also liquid honesty. Be careful who you’re around when you’ve been drinking.”_ Oh, how you wished you’d listened to her.

Had you been honest about your feelings for Brian? You’ve known him for so many years, and he’s always been your best friend, your right-wing man, the brother you never had. That’s all he is to you—that’s all he’ll _ever_ be—and you weren’t about to go and fuck everything up by rebounding off your rejection from Roger and onto your best friend.

But all that goes out the window the second you see Brian emerge from backstage with his Red Special in hand.

The band begins to play, and it’s as if your focus is a spotlight that illuminates only Brian on the dingy pub stage. He plays with an unwavering focus, his beautiful eyes rimmed with black, his hair a perfect halo, his fingers moving about the fretboard with ease. It’s been a few days since you last saw him, and you drink in the sight of him like he was the only glass of water in an endless desert.

And suddenly, his focus is broken. His eyes come up from his guitar and he scans the audience with a purpose…before settling his gaze on you. Time slows. You bite your lip, not looking away, and nor does he. You lift your hand in a shy wave. He smiles in return.

There’s something special in the shared gaze, something unspoken yet mutually understood. And it’s only when he finally looks away that you realize you hadn’t once thought of Roger Taylor the entire night.

✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:*


	3. part three

Reassurance — Brian May x f!Reader (part three) (FINAL)

  
[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/8d627bfd4b86a6d6b9084f84ac227aca/tumblr_inline_pmwnhw5Wrj1ufkuu0_500.gifv)

**Pairing(s):** Brian May x female reader

**Setting:** London, spring of 1971, right at the brink of Smile becoming Queen

**Prompt:** anonymous asked:

> brian comforting you after your crush falls for someone else!3??-?? then you start to feel for brian?????

**Chapter:** one of three

**Word Count:** ~1.6K (by part)

**Warnings:** drinking, cursing, mild sexual implications, angst, but also fluff so sweet your teeth will ache

**Disclaimer** : This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Brian May, Queen, or any other affiliated names or fictional events.

**A/N:** Hey all, it’s Blake! Happy Valentine’s Day ♡ Thank you all so much for your amazing support of this story. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this final part as much as I enjoyed writing it :’)

~ [part one](https://sweet-ladyy.tumblr.com/post/182791933734/reassurance-brian-may-x-freader-part-one) ~ [part two](https://sweet-ladyy.tumblr.com/post/182795098909/reassurance-brian-may-x-freader-part-two) ~

✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* 

After the Smile show, you wait out by the band’s van. Leaning against the dented side, you pull your coat around your shoulders more tightly to ward off the cold. You’re not sure what you’ll tell Brian, or what exactly your longer-than-normal shared gaze meant, but you need to see him.

Soon enough, the back doors to the pub fly open and the bandmembers emerge. Brian is there, flanked by Freddie and one of the new bassists the band had been testing out for compatibility. They see you across the parking lot. Fred and the bassist pat Brian on the shoulder and head back inside to give you and him some privacy. You wonder what Brian had told them.

Brian crosses the parking lot toward you. He slouches from the cold and his lack of a coat. It’s adorable.

“Hey,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey,” you say. “You’re cold.”

“I’m fine,” he says, and then a chill shakes his body. You and he both chuckle. “Actually, you’re right. Let’s sit in the van?”

You nod, and Brian goes to the trunk to open the back doors. You climb in before him, welcoming the still warmth from inside. Brian follows and closes the doors, sitting cross-legged on the van’s floor across from you.

“Haven’t heard from you in a few days,” he says quietly. You notice, even in the darkness of the van, that his eyeliner is smudged and his hair clings to his forehead from dried sweat.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I guess I needed a few days to myself. I’m glad I came tonight, though. You played so well.”

Brian flashes a smile at you. He loves to talk about performing, you know it. “It was a blast. None of us like that bassist, though. This was his test run with us. He doesn’t mesh well with any of us. I think Roger’s been tasked with telling the bloke he’s out of the band,” he says with a laugh.

You laugh, too. “I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s a good fit soon,” you say. Brian nods, leaning his head back against the side wall of the van and closing his eyes. You take the opportunity to study his face, his beautiful, lovely face. You want to memorize every detail the way a virtuoso memorizes a concerto.

“Brian,” you whisper. His eyes open, and he meets your gaze with a curious expression.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember that time I failed my English Comp exam freshman year, and you took me out to get ice cream at that place an hour away, because you said it was the best ice cream in all of Britain?”

He beams. “Of course I remember. You got Rocky Road.”

“And you got plain vanilla, you idiot,” you joke, nudging his arm. Brian throws his head back and laughs. 

You go on. “And do you remember that time a few summers ago when my aunt died, and you stayed over at my flat for a week straight to make sure I would be okay?”

He nods solemnly. “I remember.”

“I’ll never forget. You went to the record store and bought me the new Stones album. And then we listened to it on the floor of my room. And then you made me teach you how to braid hair.”

“It’s a good skill to have for my future daughters.”

“I think you looked really good in pigtail braids.” You smile nostalgically, sighing. “Remember that time I got shit-faced drunk because your bandmate rejected me, and you tucked me into your bed and took care of me all night?”

Brian doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you with wide, hazel eyes, full of a galaxy of insight. You gaze back at him. It’s the shared gaze once again, the same knowing gaze you’d shared during his performance not half an hour earlier. 

You’ve finally figured out what makes moments like this between you and him so special. It’s a look of mutual reassurance. An unspoken promise that he’s got your back, and you his.

“I remember,” he says finally, his voice quiet and yet rich as ever.

“You always seem to know exactly how to reassure me that everything’s okay. I don’t know how you do it.”

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I know you like the back of my hand. Plus, it’s not that hard to cheer you up,” he says with a perfect smile. 

“No, it’s more than that,” you say, your voice dropping quieter and quieter as you go on. “You’re so in tune with me. And I just don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone with as much reassurance to offer as you.”

“Y/N…” he begins, but he trails off. 

You long to reach for his hand resting on his knee, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Instead, you caress the faded carpet below you. “I’m sorry I took off so soon on Friday morning,” you say, toying with a threadbare patch beneath your fingers.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “I understand. I, erm… I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Pried?” you ask.

“Yeah. About… About whether or not you meant what you’d said the night before.”

Your pulse quickens in your throat. “Yeah, about that…” you start quietly.

Outside, the sounds of the city traffic and crowds seem far-away. The refuge you and Brian have found in this cozy little van is perfect and surreal, like a separate world entirely. Especially when you realize Brian’s knee is now brushing up against yours.

“Hmm?” he hums. You bite your lip.

“I just wanted to tell you… I’ve been thinking about it a lot. What I said. Or, what I _apparently_ said. Since I can’t remember any of it. And I’ve realized…” you heave a deep breath, “…I did.”

“…You did what?”

“I _did_ mean it.” Your voice is barely above a whisper now. “But you’re not supposed to know.”

“Oh,” Brian gasps. The sound is undeniably surprised, yet indecipherable. His eyes bore holes into yours, exhibiting the intensity of a thousand stars. He leans down toward you, almost subconsciously. “Oh, Y/N…”

But you turn your face away from him, giving the patch in the carpet your full attention. “I’m worried,” you say.

“About what?”

“I’m worried that you’ll think I’m rebounding.”

Brian’s warm hand rests on top of yours, then. Your heart nearly stops, and you bring your eyes up to meet his again. He’s undeniably closer now, his eyes full of yearning.

“That’s something only _you_ would know, Y/N. So… You tell me,” he breathes, and you can feel his breath fan over your face. “Are you rebounding?”

Two days ago, you wouldn’t have been sure. But now, you know the answer without a doubt. You know exactly how you feel about Brian May…exactly how you’ve felt for years, albeit repressed and unacknowledged the whole time. But right now, you’ve never been surer of anything in your life.

“No,” you say, speaking a little louder now so he can hear the confidence in the word. “I’m not.”

Brian’s hand squeezes a little. You flip your own hand so you can lace your fingers around his. His touch feels like sparks against your skin, even though you’ve touched Brian’s hand countless times in the past. But this is different. You rub your thumb against his knuckles with a feather-light touch.

“I’m in love with you,” you finally admit. 

Brian breathes out a breath he’d seemed to be holding. You arch your back slightly, leaning in closer and closer toward his face. You can smell his familiar smell, the spice of cologne, the sweetness of his breath, the haze of smoke. It’s the smell of waking up in his bed, gathering the sheets in your hands to press them to your nose, wanting to never have to get up. It’s _Brian._

“Say it again,” he whispers, full of emotion. 

He’s so close that his shaky breath fans out over your face and his lips brush against yours.

“I love you, Brian,” you say. 

And slowly, slowly, you move into him. His warm mouth presses against your bottom lip for a slow, lingering kiss, and a show of fireworks explodes in your soul.

You gently pull away, testing his reaction. The little moan from the back of his throat draws you in again, kissing him more confidently this time. Brian’s hands find the sides of your neck and he angles your face toward him, and then his mouth is moving on yours, warm and soft and intense. And the only thoughts that cross your mind is that _this is Brian,_ that you’re _kissing Brian,_ that you’re _in love with Brian._

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips. Your eyelids flutter open, and he pulls away just enough to study your face.

“Brian.” 

“Y/N,” he repeats, smiling shyly. You realize he’s speaking your name just to enjoy the sensation of the word rolling off his tongue.

“Y/N,” he says again, adding, “you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”

You breathe out a little moan as he brings his hands to your face, caressing your cheeks like you are the rarest artifact in the world.

“And I’ve been in love with you since the first time I ever saw you,” he continues. “I’ll never forget seeing you riding down the street in that shiny red bicycle beneath a sky of stars.”

You grin at the memory, of moving in down the street from the May family. You were fifteen, and you used to bike to avoid having to help unpack boxes. You’d hated the new town, hated the new neighborhood, hated your dad for making you move away from all your friends. 

One evening, you snuck out after dinner with a satchel of belongings and your bicycle, vowing you’d bike all the way home and never return. And that’s where you first met Brian May, who was gazing up at the light-polluted sky with a secondhand telescope from his front porch. And you’ve been inseparable ever since.

“I was running away from home when you first met me,” you murmur as Brian kisses your jawline with the gentlest of kisses.

“I know. You always tell me.”

“You were the only reason I’d stayed in Feltham.”

“I’m glad I was the one who changed your mind about running away.” Brian’s lips move to the shell of your ear, and he whispers, “I always knew you were the one for me.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel Brian’s thumb brush away a tear from the corner of your eye.

“There’s no one else like you,” he continues, and you feel one of his hands start to rub reassuring circles on the back of your neck. “I love you, Y/N.”

You can’t hold back the tears now. But they’re good sorts of tears, the products of the sudden onslaught of raw emotions that Brian’s words have evoked from within you. 

And suddenly, being separated from him any second longer is unbearable. You fling yourself onto Brian, crashing your mouth onto his once more. You kiss him like he’s your only source of oxygen, and he kisses you like he’d never wanted for anything more in his entire life. 

And neither of you can bring yourselves to break away.

— — —

_A few weeks later_

You and Brian have been keeping your relationship on the down-low, though not for lack of seriousness—of that, there was _plenty_ —but rather, out of respect for your friends. The transition from friends to lovers has been a natural one for you and him, but Brian had voiced concern that his friends may need a little more time to warm up to the change in dynamic.

You and he will tell them, eventually. But for now, it was oddly exciting to retain this shared secret of meaningful glances and under-the-table hand squeezes.

Like now. You’re tagging along with the boys for lunch at their favorite diner in downtown London. Brian sits across from you at the other side of the booth, beside Freddie. Usually, if he’s sitting beside you at a restaurant, he’ll reach for your hand every once and a while for a reassuring squeeze…which is not possible today since he’s all the way across the table. 

But you have to bite back a smile as he finds your foot with his under the table, jokingly kicking you every once and awhile.

The diner outing is in-part an effort to get to know a potential new bassist for the band—John Deacon, an introspective nineteen-year-old who’d apparently had a stellar audition. The bassist sits on your side of the booth, at the end of the table. Roger sits between you and John. This arrangement might have given you heart palpitations in the past, but needless to say, you’re completely past your Roger days now.

“So you’re saying, if your bass amp happened to break on you, you’d be able to fix it?” Brian asks the newbie excitedly. John nods and elaborates on his background in electric engineering. You can already tell John’s going to fit in well with the others.

Brian and Fred across the table have their undivided attention on John, so neither of them notice when Roger suddenly turns to you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Roger says beneath his breath. You turn to look at the drummer and raise your brows in surprise.

“What’s that?” you ask.

Roger’s dropped his chin so he can look at you through his thick eyelashes—a classic move you’ve seen him pull on countless girls prior. “I was just thinking,” he says in a low voice, stretching his arm out to rest on the back of the booth behind you, “maybe I’d been a little hasty with you before.”

“Hasty?”

“Yeah. You’ve been hanging out with us a lot more now, and I think you’re actually pretty cool,” he drawls. Out of your periphery, you see Brian is finally looking your way, probably responding to the movement of Roger’s arm around your shoulders.

“What do you say we give that date another shot?” Roger says with a wink. “What are you doing later?”

You bite your lip, but you don’t hide the private smile on your lips. Beneath the table, you find Brian’s leg with the tip of your foot and nudge him gently—a silent reassurance.

“Wow, Roger,” you say flippantly to the drummer. “I’m so flattered. But… I’m actually seeing someone else…”

Roger frowns a little. “You are?”

You can’t help it; you glance over at your boyfriend across the table, just to see the amused expression on his face. Roger doesn’t miss it.

“Yep, sorry to say. You should have asked me a few weeks ago.”

✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* ✧・ﾟ:* 


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